Choices
by WinnieBoo
Summary: I am who I am today because of the choices I made yesterday. -Eleanor Roosevelt
1. Responsibilities

**_Disclaimer: I do not, nor do I claim to own anything related with the show Chicago Fire. I only own my original characters and likely anything you don't recognize! Natalie, Aurora and any other OC's you might see (and their families) are mine._**

Author's Note: Hello again, lovies! I'm so excited to start this story, and I know that a lot of people have read my other story on Chicago Fire _Bo__undless_ and I love you for it, but I can't can't fight this idea out of my head. I will be continuing that story, just not at timely as I had originally anticipated. I do, however, have millions of ideas for this story and the outline is almost completed! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

This is something I've never touched down on before, but I've done a fair amount of research on the topic so I'm a bit more comfortable than I would be going into this whole thing blind. If any of you see any wrongs in my work please don't hesitate to let me know (or have any suggestions in the field).

And now that I've gotten all of that off my chest, let's begin!

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_PTSD symptoms can follow any serious psychological trauma, such as exposure to combat, accidents, torture, disasters, criminal assault and exposure to atrocities or to the sequelae of such extraordinary events. Prisoners of war exposed to harsh treatment are particularly prone to develop PTSD. In their acute presentation these symptoms, which include subsets of a large variety of affective, cognitive, perceptional, emotional and behavioral responses which are relatively normal responses to gross psychological trauma. If persistent, however, they develop a life of their own and may be maintained by inadvertent reinforcement. Early intervention and later avoidance of positive reinforcement (which may be subtle) for such symptoms is a critical preventive measure. (Source: Wikipedia)_

_**Choices**_

**Chapter 1**

**Responsibilities**

_You cannot change the circumstances, the seasons or the wind, but you can change yourself. That is something you have charge of. -Jim Rohm_

With a new title came new responsibilities; and the main responsibility for newly appointed Lieutenant Jeff Clarke was the lives of the men on Truck 21. For years he'd lived a normal life, as normal as possible, but the unspoken words that fueled his nightmares had suddenly came back to haunt him. He thought that he'd buried the horrid memories in the back of his mind forever, but ever since he'd received the promotion he couldn't seem to forget the words that occasionally echoed throughout his core.

_How much sand?_

He tried to erase the feelings, just as he had when he came back from war- by keeping his mind as active as possible. Granted, at night he'd toss and turn, with little to no rest in the morning as he woke. His thoughts of sleep brought a yawn from his lips and he covered his mouth respectfully with a fist to muffle the sound.

After an hour of waiting Jeff leaned forward in his chair his arm extending to grab a worn magazine from the pile on the oak table in the middle of the room. He flipped the pages, not bothering to read the articles, simply glancing at the lavishly decorated living rooms of Southern Living._  
_

He could hear the distant beeping of a fax machine somewhere in the office. Unconsciously, his ankle began mocking the rhythm of the incessant noise, causing his left leg to bounce against the floor. He breathed in a lungful of sterilized air, the scent of it almost burned his nose as he inhaled.

A nurse poked her head from behind the squeaky door and pointed to him. "Jeff Clarke?"He gave a single, sharp nod and raised to his feet. "Come with me."

She lead him through a maze of white walls, and he wondered if the starkness of them foreshadowed the appointment he was so dreading. At the end of the hall sat a large room, which was minimally decorated with a few framed pictures, that he assumed was the office.

The nurse pointed to the lone chair that sat before the desk and sighed. "Doctor Fisher will be with you soon, sir."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

The military man in him examined the room with interest. From his seat he noted that all the pictures on the wall were of the same person, a small girl with curly brown hair. One picture in particular brought a small smile to his lips. The child sat on a swing, her hair blown back away from her face; the smile on her face was arguably one of the most beautiful he'd ever seen.

The hinges on the door squealed and caused him to jump slightly, but he recovered before the doctor shut the door. He crossed his hands in his lap and waited for the medical professional to sit before him.

"Hello Jeffrey," she greeted pleasantly. "My name is Natalie Fisher. I'm a licensed psychiatrist as you can see," she pointed to her degree on the wall without looking up, as if she'd rehearsed the speech. "I recently completed my residency, all four years in this office."

Jeff wiped his hands on his thighs and blinked almost unable to respond. "Okay."

"With this course of treatment we'll explore your mind a bit- try to get to the root of your problems." She glanced up from his file to give an encouraging smile. "And on that note, how are you today, Jeffrey?"

His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he began. "Jeff please, ma'am. And I'm fine."

She tilted her head slightly and raised an eyebrow. "Now Jeff, if that were true you wouldn't be here to see me. Let's see, we'll start with the basics." She glanced to the folder that lay on her desk. "I see that you've recently been promoted to Lieutenant of Firehouse 43, do you like your job, Jeff?"

"Yes ma'am, I like my job very much." His response was simple.

"Okay," she drew her lip between her teeth and began to write onto a notepad. "You transferred out of House 51 less than a month ago, correct?" He wordlessly nodded so she continued. "Did you have any problems at that house? Anyone treat you out of the ordinary?"

"No, they were welcoming."

"Do you currently have any contact with the men at that firehouse?"

His eyes darted between her own and the large desk. "Yes ma'am."

"Great," she said. "And the men at Firehouse 43?"

"The same."

She tapped the end of her pen on the desk. "You're not much of a talker are you, Jeff?"

"No, ma'am."

She chuckled lightly and shook her head. "Okay, we'll try to draw you out of that shell before the therapy is all over," she joked. "Do you have a family? A wife or kids?"

His hand clenched a few times before he sighed. "I had a wife, but no kids."

"Had? Care to elaborate?"

He licked his lips once again, coating them in a thin layer of wetness. "We're separated."

"Mmm, and where is your wife now?"

"Prison."

The doctor began to write again, the tip of her pen swaying with the flow of her hand. A long lock of dark hair fell into her face but she expertly tucked it behind her ear and continued with her duties. "How long were you married?"

"Twelve years," his voice was small.

She gave a gentle nod. "What happen to bring the separation on?"

Jeff leaned into his chair, his neck straight. His body temperature rose quickly and his head fogged. "We're not here to discuss Lisa," he hissed. He held his head down a bit, looking at her from the depth of his eyes. "We're here to discuss me."

Natalie reach below the desk to the small refrigerator that sat at her feet. "Would you care for something to drink, Jeff? I have soda, juice, water-"

He cleared his throat. "Water please."

He gulped it in it's entirety in less than a minute and seemed to be a bit calmer. Natalie took this as her chance to ask again.

"You're right, Jeff. We _are_ here to discuss you, but for twelve years of your life Lisa was a part of you as well. I understand it may be a touchy subject and I may leave it for a later date, but eventually we will have to speak about it."

He swallowed and rubbed his palms together lightly. "You're right," he agreed.

"I'm glad to hear that." Natalie wrote her home phone number on the back of her business card before handing it to him. "If you ever have any problems that aren't during business hours don't hesitate to give me a call. Think of me as a regular doctor now- I'll take care of you, okay?"

Once more he gave a solitary nod. "Thanks."

"We'll have an eight week course, and if I feel you're ready to leave I'll sign the form and send it to Sergeant Davis. However, if _you_ still feel like you need help I'll gladly sign you up for a longer period." Jeff agreed and stood to his feet.

"Have a good day, Jeff. I'll see you next week."

He walked through the barren hallway, this time alone, his mind filled with thoughts of his ex-wife.

_It's about time I stopped back by Molly's. I need a beer._

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**A/N: And there you have it! The first chapter of my Jeff Clarke story! I'm so so so excited to start this journey with you guys. I've researched the practice of Doctor Fisher to an extent, and will go further into her qualifications as the story goes along.**

**Now from what I've learned about PTSD is that sometimes it takes years to show up. That's kind of the way I'm going on this one- he's had the minor symptoms for a while but it's just getting to the point where he feels it would be dangerous to not seek attention, not only for himself but for his men as well.**

**Let me know what you guys think! Do you like how it started? Leave me a comment below!**


	2. Change

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor do I claim, to own anything related to Chicago Fire; only my original characters.**

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_**Choices**_

**Chapter 2**

**Change**

_The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new.- Socrates_

Metal clanked viciously against metal as the woman he so loved sat before him. The shackles were loose around her ankles and wrists, but still tight enough to make an attempt at escape difficult. Her usually curled hair fell flat against her shoulders, and the paleness of her face made Jeff suddenly aware of her lack of makeup, not that he minded- he preferred the natural look on a woman anyway.

Lisa's face was stern as she twisted onto the stool in a feeble attempt to find a sense of comfort on the hard surface. A sigh slipped her thin lips and she narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "What are you doing here, Jeff? Haven't you said enough in the past few weeks?"

"I just came to talk," he said calmly.

The redheaded woman scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You are _somethin_' else. "You know I would talk but I remember somewhere in our vows that you agreed to honor me; but you didn't do that, did you Jeff?"

"Lisa, you pinned that murder on me. I can't take the fall for something like that." He said lowly. "Not even for you."

Tears that she was unwilling to let fall glossed her eyes as she inhaled deeply. "Well isn't that nice to hear?"

"I'm in therapy," he said suddenly. "I think it's gonna help me."

"Good for you." Her voice held no tone of interest as she tapped her fingers against the cold table.

"We can fix this, Lisa. If I can get my head straight again we can fix it."

Lisa shook her head in protest. "We can't, Jeff. What we have is over- for me at least." She rolled her tongue over her top lip and continued. "There's a man here, he visits his sister- after our divorce is finalized we're going to get married."

"Married?" A large weight in the center of his chest pressed him into the stool deeper as he attempted to wrap his mind around her words. He breathed deeply to control his anger, his nostrils flared. A dry chuckle parted from him as he shook his head. "Married, Lisa? You couldn't make our marriage work- twelve years, Lisa. Twelve years of my life I'll never get back."

"More like two," she interrupted quickly. "I only had my husband for a little while. The military changed you, Jeff. It changed you for the worse."

The fire in his chest was rising with her every word. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple as he struggled to maintain a tone of voice deemed acceptable inside the prison. "I'll tell you what changed me," his voice sounded foreign even to him, "what changed me is when I found you in _my _bed with someone else. _That's _what changed me. How dare you sit there and accuse me of ruining our marriage when you had no intentions of staying with one man?"

"You weren't paying me any attention, Jeff! I had to do something-"

His legs took on a mind of their own as he rose from his seat and leaned his elbows against the table. "I wish you the best."

The mild autumn wind caressed his face in it's tender embrace but did nothing to slow his pace. His truck was near, a few yards away, but in his current mind state it was so much further. His legs began to weight heavy and his knees locked mid-stride, sending him onto the ground in a heap of misery. The jeans he wore ripped at the knees from the force of his fall, and he felt the cold stream of blood leaking from the small wound.

"Damn it," he whispered desperately. "Damn it, damn it."

His fingers searched the ground for his keys and wrapped around them, pushing himself firmly from the ground. After he climbed into his truck his mind left his body, floating within the memories contained in the very confines of his mind.

_February__ 2002_

_As he strolled through the aisles of the supermarket he noticed a woman struggling to place a fifty-pound bag of dog food into her shopping cart. Upon seeing her distress he rushed toward her and gently placed it into the body of the cart. _

_"You alright," he questioned, a grin forming on his handsome face. _

_The woman's face burned from embarrassment. "Yeah. My father used to tell me I had the strength of a butterfly," she admitted quietly. "I'm Lisa Porter."_

_"Jeff Clarke," he greeted pleasantly. "This may be abrupt but would you like to go out to dinner with me sometime?"_

_"Blunt," she noted with a smile. "But yes, I'd love to."_

_Within the year the two decided to tie the knot in secret, only they and the magistrate who performed the duty knew. With no honeymoon, the two went back to their home and consummated their love to one another. Their bliss, however, was short lived. Jeff arrived home from a week in the woods with his friends only to find Lisa and a man, who he later found out had been on the side during their entire relationship, in bed together._

_He knew something was different when he walked in to see dinner on the table. She never made dinner unless it was a planned event for the two, otherwise she'd cook up on the spot. As he approached their bedroom he heard her giggling so he kicked the door in and found them, wrapped around each other. His only thoughts were to break the offender in his home, and he swiftly seized the man's shirt color with his left hand and began to swing with the right._

His eyes batted quickly, his daydream ending with the sight of the man's blood on his knuckles. He glanced around to find himself in an abandoned field, grass surrounded him as far as he could see.

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**A/N: I'd like to thank my reviewers first off!**

**M. Louise E- thanks for your thoughtful words, they mean a lot!**

**2NYwLove- I, too, have loved Clarke since his first appearance- grated at first I didn't like him so much (Darn Herrmann for making him seem like the rat), but just like I'm sure everyone else did, I grew to love him. He's such a vulnerable character, but also is the strong-silent type all girls dream of. Also, if I can't figure something out in terms of Doctor Fisher's job I'll definitely PM you, thanks for the offer! I'm very glad to hear you're enjoying!**

**Now, to the rest of you how did you feel about this chapter? Let me know with a comment!  
**


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